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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370430">The Cardassian Who Cried Wolf</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaRivers/pseuds/StellaRivers'>StellaRivers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Anal Sex, Bolian Flu, But we love him for it, Canon Divergence, Cardassian Anatomy, Cardassian Erogenous Zones, Cardassian Forehead Spoon, Cardassian Hand-Holding, Crack, Crying Wolf, Desk Sex, Developing Relationship, Episode: s03e20 Improbable Cause, Fake illnesses, Fake injuries, Foot Fetish, Garak Is A Pest, Garak Is A Whiny Attention Seeker, Garashir Lunch Dates, Gay Alien Sex, Gay Sex, Getting Together, Gratuitous Smut, Humour, I Hope It’s Funny Anyway, I have no idea what I’m doing, Introspection, Julian Bashir and Elim Garak's Book Club, Julian Bashir's Foot Fetish, Lies, Loneliness, M/M, More tags to be added, My Dear Doctor, Oblivious Elim Garak, Oblivious Julian Bashir, Oral Sex, Sex, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smut, The Boy Who Cried Wolf, attention seeking, body heat, dislocated shoulder, hand-holding, headache, space racism, sprained wrist, twisted ankle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:28:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaRivers/pseuds/StellaRivers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bashir tells Garak the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. Garak gets ideas. </p><p>Basically The Boy Who Cried Wolf but with Garak faking injuries and illnesses to get Bashir’s attention, with a much happier ending than the original *wink*.</p><p>I feel like I’ve read something with this premise before but I can’t find the original work for the life of me, so I apologise to the writer whose idea I may or may not be ripping off. </p><p>My first ever multi-chapter fic but I'm kind of past begging people to be nice to me so do what you want.</p><p>Rating may change. Updated weekly-ish.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julian Bashir &amp; Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Boy Who Cried Wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This chapter is basically just set-up. The whole thing will be maybe 5-6 chapters depending on when Dr Bashir gets tired of Garak’s shit, or when Garak manages to get Bashir in his bed…or both. Probably both. Let’s face it, Garashir is kind of my thing now so I may as well fully embrace it. The opening conversation is directly lifted from Series 3 Episode 20 “Improbable Cause”. Just…forget all the stuff about Garak’s shop blowing up and his adventure with Odo, they do not feature in this fic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Have you ever heard the story about The Boy Who Cried Wolf?” Doctor Bashir asked Garak, snatching a datapadd from his Cardassian friend’s hands, tired of the man’s constant bullshit. </p><p>“No,” Garak replied, looking up at the doctor. </p><p>“It’s a children’s story,” Bashir started, busying himself with the datapadd, “about a young shepherd boy who gets lonely while tending his flock, so he cries out to the villagers that a wolf is attacking his sheep. The people come running, but of course there’s no wolf. He claims that it’s run away and the villagers praise him for his vigilance.” </p><p>“Clever lad,” Garak rose out of the biobed and circled Bashir, “charming story.” </p><p>“I’m not finished,” the doctor continued, “the next day, the boy does it again, and the next day, and on the fourth day a wolf really comes. The boy cries out at the top of his lungs, but the villagers ignore him and the boy and his flock are gobbled up.” </p><p>Garak looked horrified. </p><p>“Well, that’s a little graphic for children, wouldn’t you say?” </p><p>“The point is,” Bashir looked up from his datapadd, “if you lie all the time, nobody’s going to believe you—even when you’re telling the truth.” </p><p>Garak thought for a moment. </p><p>“Are you sure that’s the point, Doctor?” </p><p>“Of course. What else could it be?” </p><p>“That you should never tell the same lie twice.” </p><p>Garak smiled at his friend, turned around and waked out of the infirmary. </p><p>Julian shook his head and got back to his work. One day, Garak’s ridiculous lies would undoubtedly come back to bite him in the ass, but until then, Julian would just have to put up with them. </p><p> </p><p>Garak relaxed in his quarters, pleased with his clean bill of health and successful riling up of Doctor Bashir. He was so handsome when he was annoyed, Garak thought. He was handsome anyway, but even more so when irritated. Garak often fantasised about winding him up to the point where he began yelling and attacking him, then they would fall into each other’s arms and have angry sex. But, alas, the good doctor’s oh-so-professional façade refused to be broken, no matter how hard Garak tried, so he had to deal with whatever small scraps he could squeeze out of his friend and leave the rest to his fantasies. </p><p>He reflected on the story he had been told. He believed he had the gist but there were several specifics which were somewhat lost on a non-Earth native—not that Doctor Bashir needed to know that. </p><p>“Computer,” he began, “what is a wolf?” </p><p>“A wolf is a wild carnivorous Earth mammal in the dog family, which typically hunts in packs,” the computer replied. </p><p>“Hmmm…computer, what are sheep?” </p><p>“Sheep are farmed animals from Earth with thick wool which eat grass and are kept in flocks for their wool, skin and meat.” </p><p>“One last thing…computer, what is a shepherd?” </p><p>“A shepherd is a person whose job it is to take care of sheep and move them from one place to another.” </p><p>“I see…so a boy who is paid to look after a flock of some sort of Earth livestock claims that a wild carnivore is attacking said livestock several nights in a row because he wants some attention from the villagers, then when that animal really comes, nobody believes him and he and his flock get eaten by it.” </p><p>“Accessing file: The Boy Who Cried Wolf.” </p><p>“Yes, yes, that will be all, computer.” </p><p>The computer bleeped itself off. </p><p>They way Garak saw it, there were several things the boy in the story could have done to avoid becoming a wolf’s main course. Firstly, he should have varied his lies—there must be other Earth predators he could have claimed were attacking his sheep besides wolves, or he could have claimed he had lost one of his sheep or that he or a sheep was injured or ill. Secondly, he shouldn’t have lied at the same time each day, but rather spread his lies out more randomly throughout the four days, thus making them more believable. Lastly, the boy’s motive made little sense—loneliness, pah! Such a weak excuse to risk being eaten by a carnivorous beast. Garak would never lower himself to such sentiment…would he? </p><p>He arose from his couch and stared into his big, empty bedroom with a strange pang in his chest. He wasn’t lonely, he reasoned, just tired. He forced a yawn to prove the point to himself. Satisfied, he changed into his pyjamas and climbed into his large, cold bed and pulled up the covers to warm himself up. The unwelcome pang in his chest returned. </p><p>It was awfully cold on this station, Garak told himself, it might be nice to have something nice and warm in his bed next to him—something like, say, a hot-blooded mammal. Maybe someone he got along with, who he was comfortable with and wouldn’t mind snuggling up to if he got too cold…someone intelligent, who he could talk to before falling asleep, who wouldn’t judge him too much for his sentimental weakness and who would possibly cuddle him back and even engage in more intimate activities… </p><p>Garak’s eyes widened to an even more insane diameter than usual as he quickly shook his mind out of the gutter. Even if there were such a person on the station, there was no way they would be interested in a crusty old has-been spy turned tailor. But maybe there was a way to trick that person into spending more time with him. His mind floated back to The Boy Who Cried Wolf and the corrections he had made to it. Maybe, just maybe, a certain attractive doctor could be coaxed into Garak’s quarters with a few fake injuries or illnesses. He might even be able to enjoy a few touches while he was examined, warm hands tracing along his body, searching for whatever offending injury he claimed to have. </p><p>Garak smirked and fluttered his eyes closed, a plan already forming in his head. </p><p> </p><p>Julian Bashir left the infirmary after an admittedly boring shift. In fact, the most exciting thing that had happened was Garak coming in and lying about the extent of his injuries. </p><p>Bashir smiled fondly when he thought about Garak. Yes, he was an insufferable liar, but sometimes that was what was so fun about him. He kept Julian on his toes, constantly making him try to decipher the truth from all the lies. </p><p>Julian reached his quarters and sighed, noting how empty and lonely they were. Maybe he related more to the shepherd boy in The Boy Who Cried Wolf than he was willing to admit. What he wouldn’t give to have somebody at home waiting for him, sitting on his couch when he got back from a long shift, welcoming him home for an evening cuddle before going to bed and getting frisky beneath the covers before settling down for a good night’s sleep. </p><p>Puling himself out of his fantasy, Julian ordered and ate some replicated food before changing into his pyjamas and going to bed. His heart longed again for that hypothetical person to cuddle and snuggle with. He had his beloved teddy bear of course, but it just wasn’t the same. He pulled the bear closer to him, pretending it was that distant person he could love and be loved by. His eyes widened and his muscles froze when that person morphed into Garak. </p><p>Did he actually like Garak like that? Did he want to cuddle up to him in bed? Did he want to do more than that? Julian had always had a bit of crush on the Cardassian tailor, if he was honest with himself, but could he ever actually go through with anything physical? What would Garak be like as a lover? Would they even be physically compatible? And what possible interest could an ex-spy turned tailor have in some naïve young Starfleet doctor? </p><p>Julian pushed Garak out of his mind, pulled his teddy bear close and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>After much debating about whose POV to write this from, I went with both, because there’s nothing like having your cake and eating it. I realise this may be confusing and I can only hope it’s at least coherent. Weirdly enough, I think Garak’s POV feels more natural to me and it kind of makes me wonder what that says about me—probably nothing good, right? </p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. Garak’s gonna start crying wolf in the next chapter, so stay tuned.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Twisted Ankle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Garak cries wolf for the first time. I don’t know if it’s just me, but I find this chapter a bit boring, I guess because not a lot really happens, but it’s fairly short so that’s a plus. </p><p>I’m not selling this fic very well, am I?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>By my current plans, this fic should have 8/9 chapters. Longer than I initially told you, I’m sorry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Garak woke up in his cold, lonely bed. He quickly arose, showered, got dressed and slapped on his fake smile so he could face another day. </p><p>“Remember, Elim,” he told himself as he practiced his smile in his full-length mirror while slicking his hair down, “as far as anyone knows, you’re a perfectly sane, mentally stable, mild-mannered tailor.” </p><p>He examined himself in the mirror from every angle, smoothing out any creases in his clothing and tucking away any stray hairs. When he was satisfied with his overall appearance, he flashed himself another smile, nodded at his reflection and set out for his tailor shop. </p><p>What a shame it would be, he thought, if he were to trip over some uneven part of the floor, spraining his ankle just enough to require medical attention but not enough to keep him from his shop. He couldn’t do it anywhere too public, otherwise he would cause an embarrassing scene and everyone would crowd around him which would be even more humiliating. No, this was something he would have to do in the privacy of his own shop. </p><p>When Garak reached his shop, he noticed there was a small bump between the cold, metal floor of the corridor and the carpet of his shop. </p><p>“Oh dear, what an uneven surface,” he remarked to himself. </p><p>Garak placed one of his feet just before the bump, then stepped over it with his other foot, trailing the first foot behind him. The result was a rather undignified fall where he landed flat on his face with his back foot twisting awkwardly behind him. </p><p>“Ouch…” he said in a stifled tone, surprised at how much it had hurt. </p><p>He tapped his combadge. </p><p>“Garak to Doctor Bashir, I’ve tripped and twisted my ankle, come and help me,” he moaned, trying to sound more hurt than he was. </p><p>“Garak,” Bashir’s reply came, “a twisted ankle is hardly a medical emergency.” </p><p>Garak thought for a second. </p><p>“Oh, but I’ve collapsed and I can’t get up. It really hurts, Doctor, I need your help.” </p><p>“Alright, I’m coming.” </p><p>Garak couldn’t help a small grin to himself. </p><p> </p><p>Doctor Bashir sighed deeply when he got the call from Garak. It was just like him to get injured right as the doctor was settling into his shift and he wasn’t overly convinced a twisted ankle was worth him leaving the infirmary, but Garak must be pretty damn hurt to ask for help. If he really couldn’t stand up, he may have actually damaged the soft tissue in his ankle or worse broken a bone. Julian didn’t see how that could have happened from a simple trip and fall, but it would be just like his alien friend to downplay his injury to avoid appearing too vulnerable. </p><p>When Bashir reached Garak’s shop, he was greeted with the sight of the Cardassian sprawled face down in the entrance with his ass in the air. </p><p>“Garak…” he began. </p><p>“Doctor!” Garak greeted, attempting to haul himself off the floor but failing miserably, “how nice of you to drop by.” </p><p>“This is no time for your sarcasm,” Bashir asserted, pulling out his tricorder, “which ankle is it?” </p><p>“Oh…I’m sure you don’t need to examine it, just help me to my feet, I’ll be fine.” </p><p>“I thought you said you couldn’t get up.” </p><p>“Not on my own, no, but I’m sure if you helped me, I could get to my feet.” </p><p>“Hmm…” </p><p>Bashir bent down and scanned Garak’s ankle. Nothing. He frowned and scanned the other ankle. Also nothing. </p><p>“Garak, what are you playing at?” </p><p>“Whatever do you mean, my dear?” </p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with either of your ankles.” </p><p>“But it’s so painful. Maybe you should scan them again.” </p><p>Bashir scanned Garak’s ankles again, and again found nothing. </p><p>“Your ankles are perfectly fine, Garak, get up.” </p><p>“My dear doctor…” </p><p>“Get up!” </p><p>“My, my, we are in a bad mood today, aren’t we?” </p><p>Garak rose to his feet, deliberately stumbling a few times so the doctor was forced to assist him, placing his warm mammalian hands on Garak’s back and shoulders to steady him. </p><p>“Garak,” Bashir began, “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I have actual patients who are very sick and injured. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the infirmary.” </p><p>“Be my guest, Doctor.” </p><p>Garak gestured Bashir out of his shop. The doctor made his way back to the infirmary, irritated at the Cardassian’s uncharacteristic malingering. What reason would he have for faking an injury like that? Why was he suddenly so desperate to put himself in a vulnerable position in front of another person? He had never known Garak to willingly show any kind of weakness in front of anyone before, least of all him, that incident with the wire had proven that. What was that infuriating lizard man playing at? Maybe it had been a bad idea to tell him about The Boy Who Cried Wolf. </p><p> </p><p>Garak watched the doctor leave his shop, smirking to himself, still basking in the warmth of the human’s hands. What he wouldn’t give to touch more of that lovely heated body, let it thoroughly warm his cold, dead heart and icy soul… </p><p>He suddenly remembered he had a dress to make for an Andorian ambassador by the time he closed today, so he crossed the shop to his worktable and got to work. It wasn’t a complicated dress, but it needed finishing. As he sewed the simple patterns into the fabric, he let his mind wander to his encounter with Doctor Bashir and his scheme to spend more time with him. </p><p>It hadn’t gone spectacularly well—he must have looked most undignified on the floor like that and Doctor Bashir had been suspicious that the injury wasn’t genuine from the offset. It hadn’t gone terribly either—Bashir had come to treat him despite his suspicions and he had touched him a little bit. </p><p>Garak sat back and sighed, his scheming brain already working to correct the issues he had encountered this morning. What he needed was to fake something a bit more vague, so it would take longer for the doctor to discover there was nothing wrong with him, but also something more serious than a twisted ankle so he would be questioned less about why he had called Doctor Bashir in the first place. It would also have to be something that did not require him to sprawl on the floor with his ass in the air to make it look convincing. It should also require some touching to properly diagnose, possibly in a quite intimate area—perhaps somewhere that was erogenous to a Cardassian that the poor, naïve doctor didn’t know about. </p><p>Garak continued to sew, smirking to himself. A positively wicked idea formed in his mind, the details becoming clearer with each stitch.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’ve given some thought to how I want to end this, and the best thing I can come up with is that Garak really does get injured or ill but Bashir doesn’t believe him. The only problem with that is that Doctor Bashir is, well, a doctor and it’s his job to take every potential injury or illness seriously, so, the question is: what could happen to Garak that would require medical attention but Bashir just straight up wouldn’t believe? *Sigh* it’s a conundrum…</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Headache</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the forehead spoon raises its ugly head.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know I SAID I’d update this about once a week but with lockdown and everything I’m bored out of my skull and writing gay alien fanfiction is a better coping mechanism than, say, murdering people so this is getting written pretty quickly. </p>
<p>Anyway, Julian comes off as an absolute freak in bed here and Garak is a vain, whiny attention seeker (but we knew that already), so…yeah. Enjoy 😊.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Julian got back to the infirmary and began aggressively treating a young ensign with a case of Bolian flu. After he had stabilised her condition with a few hyposprays pressed to her neck a bit too hard, he shoved some pills into her hand, told her how to take them and sent her on her way. He the stomped to the computer and aggressively wrote up the incident in the ensign’s medical record. </p>
<p>“Are…are you OK, Doctor?” Nurse Jabara asked tentatively once the ensign had left. </p>
<p>“Fine,” Julian lied. </p>
<p>“Did the computer terminal do something wrong?” </p>
<p>“No, I’m just feeling a little frustrated, that’s all.” </p>
<p>“With Garak?” </p>
<p>Bashir looked up from the terminal and rounded on Nurse Jabara. </p>
<p>“What makes you think this has anything to do with Garak?” </p>
<p>“Well, it’s just that you got a call from him when you started your shift, went to treat him and you’ve been irritated ever since.” </p>
<p>“Huh! Is it that obvious?” </p>
<p>“Extremely.” </p>
<p>“He’s so infuriating!” Bashir dropped all pretences and began to vent, “I went to his shop and there he was, sprawled out, face-down on the floor, complaining about a twisted ankle. Well, I scanned both his ankles and there was nothing wrong with either of them, but he still insisted one of them hurt, so he made me help him stand up. I mean—the audacity of it! Why would he do something like that!?” </p>
<p>“You don’t know?”  </p>
<p>“No…well, Garak’s usually so secretive about his weaknesses, I just don’t understand why he would suddenly lie about an injury like that?” </p>
<p>“You honestly can’t think of a single reason?” </p>
<p>“No…” Julian blushed. </p>
<p>He could hope there was a reason why Garak was pretending to be hurt that involved spending more time with him and getting closer to him, but it was far more likely he had some more sinister ulterior motive. But what could that be? Was he trying to lull him into a false sense of security before murdering him, or possibly covering up for some insane covert plot? </p>
<p>“Maybe he just wants to hang out with you more?” Nurse Jabara pulled Julian out of his musings, raising a suggestive eyebrow. </p>
<p>“M…maybe?” Julian doubted it, but he could dream, “actually, I told him the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf yesterday, so he’s probably just getting ideas from that.” </p>
<p>“To what end?” Nurse Jabara’s eyebrow rose again. </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Julian almost whimpered, “he probably just wants to annoy me.” </p>
<p>“Whatever you say,” Nurse Jabara smiled suggestively, then left to get on with some work. </p>
<p>Alone with his thoughts, Julian began to fantasise about what it would be like if he and Garak ever did get any closer. In almost every scenario he came up with, Garak ended up murdering him or selling him out to some hostile alien army, possibly in exchange for military secrets or sanctuary on their home planet. In the scenarios where he didn’t end up dead or a prisoner of war, he ended up horribly maimed due to Garak’s lack of understanding about how fragile human bodies were compared to Cardassians. But would that be worth it? He’d been slapped around in bed before, by plenty of people bigger than Garak, so would it really be so bad? In fact, he’d slept with a lot of people who, in retrospect, were probably as dangerous as, if not more so, than Garak, so why did the idea of sleeping with the Cardassian tailor/spy scare him so much? Was he really so afraid of those pointy reptilian teeth sinking a bit too hard into the silky flesh of his sharp jawline and long, elegant neck, or those sharp Cardassian claws scratching into his broad shoulders, drawing blood as they slowly moved down to his vulnerable human chest, all the while being stared at by those massive, icy blue saucers he had for eyes? </p>
<p>Before Julian had time to think about it too much, he was interrupted by another patient entering the infirmary. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was getting close to the end of a long day in Garak’s tailor shop. He had long since finished the Andorian ambassador’s dress and was now working on a Tholian silk scarf for a young Bajoran doctor. Getting into his sewing rhythm, his mind wandered to the second phase of his plan. </p>
<p>He knew Doctor Bashir was on the late shift tonight, which would give him the perfect opportunity to “cry wolf,” as it were. He would pretend to be working late on a commission, wait until the promenade was nearly empty, then go to the infirmary and give the performance of his life. Oh, how humiliating this was going to be—but worth it if he played his cards right. </p>
<p>The hours wiled on as Garak continued stitching various items of clothing—pointless busy work if he was honest with himself. The flow of people walking past his shop thinned after the evening meal rush and he closed up shop but stayed in the back room, working on some suit or other. When he felt it was sufficiently late, he clutched his forehead and scrunched up his face. </p>
<p>“Owwwwww…” he howled to himself, catching a glimpse of himself in his full-length mirror. </p>
<p>Satisfied with his performance, Garak rushed out of his shop towards the infirmary, still clutching his head and putting on a show for any passing onlookers. </p>
<p>“Owwwwww…” he repeated, entering the infirmary, “my head!” </p>
<p>“Ummm…” a terrified-looking Bajoran nurse started, “I’ll get Doctor Bashir.” </p>
<p>“Please do,” Garak replied through gritted teeth. </p>
<p>“What is it now, Garak?” Doctor Bashir sighed as he entered the room. </p>
<p>“My head,” said Garak, “it burns!” </p>
<p>Bashir frowned. </p>
<p>“Get on the biobed,” he instructed. </p>
<p>He’s so attractive when he takes charge like that, Garak thought. </p>
<p>“OK, Doctor,” he said instead, deliberately stumbling onto the biobed so the doctor’s wiry but deceptively strong arms were forced to steady him. </p>
<p>“I swear, if this is another one of your lies…” Bashir started, picking up his tricorder. </p>
<p>“Owwwwwwwww! The pain!” Garak shouted melodramatically. </p>
<p>“Hmmm…” Bashir hummed suspiciously, running the tricorder over Garak’s head, “there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with you.” </p>
<p>“Oh, but the pain,” Garak moaned, fully committed to his act. </p>
<p>The doctor ran his tricorder over the tailor again. </p>
<p>“There’s just no physical reason why you should have a headache.” </p>
<p>“Well, my dear doctor, maybe the reason isn’t physical,” Garak suggested a bit too calmly, “ouch,” he added, grabbing his head again. </p>
<p>“Really? You wouldn’t have any psychological disorders you’re hiding from me, would you?” </p>
<p>“No…of course not…ouch…” </p>
<p>“Well, Garak, I can’t find any reason for your headache,” Bashir concluded, putting his tricorder away, “are you sure there’s no non-physical reason for it?” </p>
<p>“Quite sure,” Garak snapped far too quickly, “ow,” he added meekly, “maybe you should examine me the old-fashioned way.” </p>
<p>“Hmmm…” Bashir said sceptically, running his hand over Garak’s forehead. </p>
<p>The doctor’s hand stopped in the middle of Garak’s forehead, slowly circling his forehead spoon. </p>
<p>“Mmmm…” Garak murmured, trying not to let Doctor Bashir know how much he enjoyed his exploration of the erogenous zone. </p>
<p>Privately, his heart leapt and he felt himself getting a bit wet in his trousers at the gorgeous doctor’s warm, gentle touch. He wriggled slightly on the biobed to hide the inevitable stain on his trousers from the slick escaping from his ajan. </p>
<p>“I just don’t see what could be wrong with you,” Bashir appeared at a loss. </p>
<p>“I…I’m starting to feel a little better…perhaps it was just a spontaneous migraine.” </p>
<p>Bashir squinted at Garak suspiciously, withdrawing his hand from the Cardassian’s forehead. Garak mourned the loss of the sweet, warm hand from his sensitive head spoon, at the same time acknowledging the fact it was about as much affection as he would ever get from his dear doctor. </p>
<p>“Are you sure there isn’t another reason you’re here?” Bashir asked, searching Garak’s eyes. </p>
<p>Garak kept his expression blank. </p>
<p>“Yes, my dear, but I believe I feel better now, I should go.” </p>
<p>“You’ll go when I discharge you.” </p>
<p>“Doctor, you have no reason to keep me here. Now please let me go home and get some rest before we both humiliate ourselves.” </p>
<p>“Alright, you can go. But I’ll be checking in on you tomorrow to make sure you’re ok—and I don’t want you going to work tomorrow either.” </p>
<p>“I do have to make a living, my dear, we’re not all Starfleet officers with no concept of money.” </p>
<p>“It’s one day, Garak and your health is more important. I’ll be checking in on you to make sure you’re relaxing.” </p>
<p>“Very well.” </p>
<p>Garak forced an irritated sigh. It was nice that Doctor Bashir cared enough about him to make a house call, but he couldn’t very well let him know that. </p>
<p>With a few parting goodbyes, Garak left the infirmary, making a point to still look a bit pained, but not as much as he had been when he had entered. He got to his quarters relatively quickly, feigning pain whenever anyone else wandering around the station looked at him so he wouldn’t be interrogated about what he was doing wandering around at this time of night. He changed into his pyjamas quickly and settled down to bed, hatching a plan for when he saw Doctor Bashir the next day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The House Call</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Garak gets a house call and Julian gets more than he bargained for.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know Garak doesn’t really do revealing outfits because he’s always so cold but, well, I feel like I’ve sexualised Julian enough just in general so now it’s Garak’s turn.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Julian was somewhat reluctant to visit Garak’s quarters the next day, but the last time he’d had a headache he had nearly died from a secret spy implant in his head and he wasn’t about to let something similar happen again. He was almost certain, however, that Garak was full of shit as he had examined his head and found absolutely nothing wrong with it. But he wasn’t about to take that chance. </p><p>If he was honest with himself, however, the doctor was really trying to catch Garak off guard by meeting with the Cardassian on his terms. He was tired of Garak having the upper hand all the time, constantly calling him at all hours and finding any excuse to speak to him and start some ridiculous argument—what could he possibly hope to achieve by irritating him so much? Maybe it was a cultural thing, Julian told himself, making a mental note to check the station’s Cardassian cultural database for any references to crying wolf and starting pointless arguments with your friends. </p><p>Julian absently straightened his uniform in the mirror and set off to Garak’s quarters. He had barely had a wink of sleep he’d let the tailor wind him up that much, but he had the feeling Garak was even less of a morning person than he was, so visiting him at this early hour would catch him off guard. His long, spindly legs carried him quickly across the empty habitat ring to Garak’s quarters. He hesitated slightly and straightened his uniform again before ringing Garak’s doorbell. No answer. </p><p>The doctor waited a few seconds, then rang the doorbell again. He heard vague rustling and grumbling from inside Garak’s quarters but the door still didn’t open. </p><p>“Garak?” he began tentatively. </p><p>More vague grumbling. </p><p>“Garak!” Bashir found his voice, “if you don’t open this door, I’ll use my medical override.” </p><p>Slightly louder grumbling and rustling followed this threat, then the pattering of Garak’s feet as he opened the door. </p><p>“My dear doctor, what are you doing here? It’s 0600 hours!” </p><p>“I’m aware of the time. I came to check up on…oh, my…” </p><p>Julian’s eyes were drawn to Garak’s…outfit? If it could be called that. It appeared to be a night shirt of some description, made of a very sheer material, pale blue in colour and with a scandalously low neckline which showed all Garak’s shoulder and chest ridges. The hem barely grazed his upper thighs, revealing his sturdy, scaly legs and shapely clawed feet. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to touch those feet, maybe give them a massage… </p><p>Julian was brought back to reality by Garak grabbing his shoulders and dragging him into his quarters. </p><p>“Don’t just stand there gawking, Doctor, the neighbours will begin to talk.” </p><p>Garak closed the door behind him. </p><p>“Well?” he started, smiling that sly, mischievous smile and spreading his arms, “aren’t you going to examine me?” </p><p>Bashir swallowed and fumbled for his tricorder, his plan to catch Garak off his guard well and truly failing. </p><p> </p><p>Garak’s plan was well and truly succeeding. It was slightly earlier than he had anticipated but that wasn’t a huge problem. He was feeling a bit cold, even in the increased heat of his quarters, but it was worth it to see the look on the doctor’s face. </p><p>He had specifically picked out this revealing nightwear the night before; it was the type of thing he only ever wore for one reason. Initially, it had been for seducing targets back when he was a young, handsome Obsidian Order operative, but it occasionally served its purpose on the station too—and he was definitely not about to let on how self-conscious it made him feel these days. The temperature in his quarters was also turned all the way up to keep him comfortable in the barely-there night shirt and also had the added unintended effect of making Doctor Bashir rather sweaty. </p><p>The doctor ran a long arm over his sweaty forehead as he scanned Garak’s entire body with his tricorder in the other hand. He scrunched up his face at the readings. </p><p>“Garak…” he began, looking uncertain of himself, “I, uh, need to scan your back.” </p><p>“Go right ahead, my dear doctor.” </p><p>Garak turned around, tilting his hips backwards ever so slightly so his ass stuck out. Bashir’s shaky hands scanned him again. </p><p>“How…how are you feeling?” Doctor Bashir stammered adorably. </p><p>“Oh, I believe I’m past the worst of it,” Garak responded breezily. </p><p>“Hmm…” the human looked at his tricorder, “I think these readings are normal.” </p><p>“Whatever do you mean, dear?” </p><p>Garak turned back around and leaned uncomfortably close to the doctor’s face. </p><p>“Um…there aren’t many…um…Cardassian medical records in the…the station database.” </p><p>Poor Doctor Bashir was so clearly floundering to remain professional and failing so spectacularly. He was so cute when he was nervous. Garak’s smug smile softened slightly into something a bit fonder, which only served to make the dear doctor even more nervous. </p><p>“I should go!” Bashir blurted out, fumbling to put his tricorder away. </p><p>“What’s the hurry?” Garak inquired innocently, “I thought you were going to <i>check up on me</i>,” he growled suggestively. </p><p>“I…um…you’re fine,” the doctor whimpered, still fumbling. </p><p>“Does that mean I can open my shop today?” the tailor grinned predatorially. </p><p>“Um…yes, I suppose so. Just take it easy,” Bashir had managed to slip his professional mask on again. </p><p>“Whatever you say, Doctor.” </p><p>“I…um…have to go…take it easy, yeah?” </p><p>Doctor Bashir had managed to put his tricorder away, but his hands were still shaking despite the rest of his body looking as calm as it ever did. </p><p>“Oh, don’t worry, Doctor, I wouldn’t want to spoil our lunch tomorrow.” </p><p>“Oh…yes, I almost forgot. See you then.” </p><p>With that, the doctor left Garak’s quarters in something of a hurry. </p><p>Doctor Bashir had seemed so nervous, bless him, Garak’s night shirt must have done the trick. Although, he thought, it hadn’t got the dear doctor in his bed, so maybe it hadn’t worked well enough. Or maybe Bashir had just been flustered by the heat—yes, that seemed more likely. After all, what possible interest could a sprite young thing like Doctor Bashir have in a worn-out old tailor like himself? He looked down at his night shirt in disgust, writhing at the sight of his own exposed body. Even he couldn’t stand the sight of his flabby arms, doughy stomach and stubby legs, so what would that lanky, elegant doctor think of it all brazenly on show like this? </p><p>Garak scoffed and threw off the night shirt, stowing it away in the darkest corner of his bottom drawer, instead throwing on a long, loose tunic and trousers to hide his shame. One thing was for certain—he would have to dial back his flirtations with the doctor in order to retain whatever scrap of dignity he had left. </p><p> </p><p>Julian rushed down the corridor, oblivious to everyone staring at his unusual speed. He didn’t care. He had to get back to the privacy of his quarters, pronto. </p><p>Once he was home and the door slid shut, he leaned back against it and sunk to the floor, panting and clutching his knees. What was Garak playing at? He had never seen the Cardassian wear so little in his life. Although, if he was being honest with himself, he had never seen Garak’s night clothes before, so for all he knew, that could be what he wore every night. Julian relaxed a bit at that thought, the bulge in his trousers calming down somewhat. </p><p>He was thoroughly ashamed of how easily Garak had managed to undo him; he was supposed to be a medical professional. Besides which, there was no way a cool, collected ex-spy would have any interest in a naïve young twink like himself. He sat for a few minutes, his head resting on his knees, catching his breath and telling himself it was nothing. </p><p>Once he was calm enough to think straight, Julian stood up and paced the room, eventually finding his PADD on his dining table. Too embarrassed to ask such a query out loud, he manually searched the cultural database for any referenced to arguing in Cardassian culture. There wasn’t much, but what was there made him freeze. </p><p>“He wants to do WHAT with me!?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, um, yeah, I didn’t really know where I was heading with this fic when I started it but I think it’s pretty clear now that they’re gonna fuck. It’s just a question of what exactly leads to it…*sigh* I’m in way over my head.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Lunch Date</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Garak and Bashir discuss The Boy Who Cried Wolf over lunch.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I started writing this fic as one thing and now it’s kind of turning into another. I’m gonna get back to the whole fake injuries thing in the next chapter, I promise, I just…wanted to write this, I don’t know. As I said in the tags, I have no idea what I’m doing and I stand by that.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh, yes, you look marvellous, my dear,” Garak told the Andorian ambassador twirling before him in her new dress, “if I do say so myself.” </p>
<p>“It’s wonderful, I love it!” she exclaimed, beaming at her reflection in the mirror, “how much do I owe you?” </p>
<p>“For a lovely blue lady like you, I’ll call it three strips of latinum.” </p>
<p>“Oh, you’re as generous as you are handsome,” the ambassador handed over the money. </p>
<p>Garak took it and inclined his head graciously. He didn’t really know if the Andorian’s comment had been a compliment or a thinly veiled insult, but what did it matter? She was a paying customer with a pleasant enough demeanour, did it really matter whether she was entirely truthful or not? It wasn’t as if he was the honest type either. </p>
<p>“Thank you, my dear,” he said eventually, “if you should require any more apparel, please don’t hesitate to contact me again.” </p>
<p>He finished off with a wide, toothy grin that let the Andorian know she would be welcome if she wasn’t insulting him. She grinned back with no trace of deceit on her face. Maybe she’d meant it. </p>
<p>Garak checked nobody was watching from the promenade, then looked at himself in his full-length mirror. Handsome, pah! He flattened his hair and straightened his tunic, then checked the time. Realising he only had a few minutes before his lunch appointment, he looked over himself again, closed up shop and hurried to the replimat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well,” Doctor Bashir began, “you’ll need to rest that shoulder for a few days, but other than that, you’ll be fine.” </p>
<p>“So I can’t go kayaking?” Miles O’Brien complained. </p>
<p>“Not for at least a week,” Bashir ordered, putting on his stern doctor face. </p>
<p>“Fine…” Miles agreed begrudgingly. </p>
<p>Bashir checked the time. </p>
<p>“Ooh…uh, excuse me, I have a lunch appointment. You’re good to go,” he tried to rush Miles out of the infirmary. </p>
<p>“Oh?” Miles inquired, “who with?” </p>
<p>“Um…Garak,” Julian replied. </p>
<p>“Oh, yeah, of course, it’s Thursday. Just be careful around that Cardy spy.” </p>
<p>“Firstly, he’s not a spy…anymore…I think…and secondly, you shouldn’t use that other word, it’s racist.” </p>
<p>“Oh, everything is racist according to you—calling them Cardies is racist, calling them spoonheads is racist, putting a spoon on my head and impersonating them in the middle of Quark’s is racist—everything is racist, so excuse me if I’m racist.” </p>
<p>“I’d just prefer it if you didn’t use racial slurs against my friends.” </p>
<p>“Fine, fine. Enjoy your lunch with…him.” </p>
<p>Miles left the infirmary and Julian shook his head. He was fond of Miles, he really was, but he had some very outdated views. </p>
<p>Julian shook Miles from his mind and turned his attention to Garak—what was he going to do? He smoothed out his uniform nervously and headed towards the replimat, the knowledge of what he learnt yesterday still burning in his mind. Garak couldn’t really want to sleep with Julian, could he? There simply had to be another explanation. Unfortunately, he would never get a straight answer out of Garak. He decided he would play it cool, pretend to know nothing about the Cardassian cultural link between arguments and sex, and just enjoy a nice literary discussion over lunch. And if Garak wanted to start an argument, well then, that was just how conversations went sometimes. The difference, as he understood it, was that, in order to flirt, you had to deliberately provoke someone into arguing with you—arguments that happened naturally in conversation didn’t count. So, he could easily find out if Garak was indeed flirting with him by noting the nature of their arguments. </p>
<p>Spotting Garak sitting at their usual table, Julian took a deep breath and walked over to him. </p>
<p>“Hello, Doctor,” Garak greeted pleasantly, “I took the liberty of replicating you some Tarkalean tea.” </p>
<p>“Oh…uh…thank you,” Julian replied, trying to calm himself down, “what did you think of this week’s reading material?” </p>
<p>“It’s an interesting tale, don’t you think? The way Aesop uses the shepherd boy and his flock as a cryptic metaphor for the message he’s conveying—it’s almost Cardassian.” </p>
<p>“And what was that message?” </p>
<p>“Don’t tell the same lie twice, of course.” </p>
<p>“You still don’t get it, do you?” </p>
<p>“What is there to ‘get’? The shepherd boy tells the same embarrassingly transparent lie each day and expects the villagers to continue to fall for it. It’s preposterous.” </p>
<p>“Well then, Mr Garak, what would you do in that situation?” </p>
<p>“In that specific situation, I would simply look after my flock as per my duty.” </p>
<p>“It always comes down to duty with you, doesn’t it?” </p>
<p>“Of course! Why would one take a job as a shepherd if one is not prepared to perform that duty properly?” </p>
<p>“But, what if…” Julian hesitated, choosing his next words carefully, “you got…lonely? What would you do then?” </p>
<p>“A little loneliness never killed anyone, my dear Doctor.” </p>
<p>“Actually…loneliness can cause several mental health problems which, if left untreated, often lead to…” Julian trailed off. </p>
<p>“You’re not concerned about my mental health, are you, dear?” </p>
<p>“No! No, of course not! I was just speaking…hypothetically.” </p>
<p>“Well,” Garak’s massive bright eyes bored into the doctor’s skull, “hypothetically, if I were feeling lonely, I would probably seek…a friend.” </p>
<p>“But…if you were up on a hill…with no friends around…no-one but your sheep…” </p>
<p>“I’m sure I’d manage.” </p>
<p>Garak shot Julian a warning gaze, so he took the hint and redirected the conversation. </p>
<p>“You know…it was written as a cautionary tale, but there was a study conducted in the early twenty-first century that showed children who read The Boy Who Cried Wolf were more likely to lie than those who didn’t.” </p>
<p>“Really? Children are much cleverer than people give them credit for.” </p>
<p>“Apparently, it’s because when the boy in the story lies, he gets a favourable outcome, but when he tells the truth, he doesn’t.” </p>
<p>“Is that so? And you thought it would be a good idea to let me read a story that encourages people to lie?” </p>
<p>Garak’s eyes lit up. </p>
<p>“You’re already an insufferable liar so it’s hardly going to make a difference letting you read it.” </p>
<p>“Well, at least I’m more creative with my lies than that shepherd boy.” </p>
<p>“You certainly keep me on my toes.” </p>
<p>“Oh, I couldn’t have you getting bored of me.” </p>
<p>Julian was convinced Garak brushed his foot against his leg on purpose, but is was so brief there was no way he’d be able to prove it. </p>
<p>They continued to discuss The Boy Who Cried Wolf all throughout their lunch hour, picking apart and debating every little detail. Julian noted that Garak often picked up on the most minute, irrelevant details and made a big deal out of them, seemingly to provoke Julian into a reaction, but it was so subtle it was hard to tell. Irritatingly, Garak seemed to back off each time Julian reacted, which Julian struggled to understand. According to his research, that meant he was flirting, but was unsure of himself. But that couldn’t be—since when had the Great Spymaster Elim Garak ever doubted himself? </p>
<p>“You know, I think you’d quite like Aesop’s Fables,” Julian concluded at the end of their lunch hour, “maybe we should read another one for next week—how about The Hare and The Tortoise?” </p>
<p>“The what and the what?” </p>
<p>“A fast, furry land mammal and a slow, wrinkly land reptile.” </p>
<p>“I see.” </p>
<p>Garak narrowed his eyes. </p>
<p>“They have a race,” Julian continued, “the hare gets all arrogant and says he can easily win because he’s so fast, but then he takes a nap just as he’s about to finish and the tortoise overtakes him and wins.” </p>
<p>Garak thought for a moment. </p>
<p>“And what lesson are we supposed to learn from that?” </p>
<p>“Slow and steady wins the race.” </p>
<p>“Are you sure, Doctor?” </p>
<p>“Alright, Garak, what’s your take on it?” </p>
<p>“Well, from that brief summary, it seems as though the message is to never assume victory is inevitable and get complacent.” </p>
<p>“Why don’t you read the story and tell me next week?” </p>
<p>“I look forward to it, my dear Doctor.” </p>
<p>Julian and Garak said their goodbyes and went back to work. Julian, still as confused as ever about Garak’s maybe-flirting, got back to the infirmary and threw himself into one of the experiments he’d been putting off—maybe if his conscious brain was focussing on that, his subconscious could figure out what to do about Garak.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I absolutely love the idea of Garak reading Aesop’s fables and interpreting them in his own unique way, someone get Andrew Robinson on the phone (DISCLAIMER: the preceding instruction is a joke, no-one actually do that). </p>
<p>Thank you to everyone who’s followed this fic and got this far with it, your support means a lot to me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Sprained Wrist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Garak pretends to sprain his wrist and goes to insane lengths to get Julian's attention.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And we’re back to faking injuries again because Garak apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Garak’s already been dressed like a slut so now it’s Julian’s turn.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Human hands were considerably less sensitive than Cardassian hands, weren’t they? True, humans viewed hand-holding as being quite romantic but they shook hands and high-fived like it was nothing. How obscene that would be considered on Cardassia. </p><p>Garak continued sewing and hummed a happy tune, putting considerably more pressure on his wrist than was necessary. Boy, was it starting to ache. At this rate, he would damage his wrist muscles before too long and surely need medical attention—and wouldn’t that be a shame? He smirked to himself, pressing down harder on the sewing machine. Ouch. </p><p>The suit he was working on was coming along quite nicely, despite the slight indentation marks along the seams where he’s pressed on too hard. Whatever, that customer had been rude and impatient with him when he ordered the suit—some people just didn’t understand that you couldn’t rush art. Unfortunately, Garak’s professional pride prevented him from doing anything in retaliation other than leaving a few slight indentations in the suit. Perhaps the customer would think they were the result of Garak rushing his order and think twice about being impatient next time. </p><p>Garak’s hand skimmed over the hem again, the thought of rude customers making him press down even harder. Once he realised, he loosened his grip. It wouldn’t do to injure his wrist too much and not be able to work. Or maybe he should—maybe he’d get an extended stay in the infirmary. No, there would be all sorts of doctors and nurses prodding and poking at him—and there was only one doctor he was interested in being prodded and poked by, preferably not in the medical sense. </p><p>When his wrist ached so much he couldn’t bear it any more, he put his cunning plan into action. </p><p>“Garak to Doctor Bashir, the suit you ordered is ready.” </p><p>“I didn’t order any suit, you must have made a mistake.” </p><p>“But I have a suit right here with ‘Doctor Julian Bashir’ on the label. That is your name, is it not?” </p><p>“It’s my name, but you must have put it on there by mistake, I didn’t order a suit.” </p><p>“Well, maybe you should come to my shop and check. It is a very lovely suit. It would look marvellous on you.” </p><p>“Fine, if it will shut you up.” </p><p>“My dear, you know nothing will ever shut me up.” </p><p>“It will if I ram my fist into your gob.” </p><p>“I’m sorry, Doctor, I didn’t quite catch that.” </p><p>“I said I’m coming.” </p><p>Garak grinned to himself and ran a finger over the scandalously revealing suit he had under his work table labelled “Doctor Julian Bashir.” It had taken him several hours and he had put off some real commissions to make it, but with any luck it would be worth it. </p><p> </p><p>Julian rushed to Garak’s shop, periodically pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. If this was some kind of insane ploy, and he was pretty certain it was, he wasn’t going to be held responsible for his actions. He would plead insanity if it came to it—insanity brought on by Garak. </p><p>He reached the Cardassian in question’s shop, trying to keep his face neutral. Walking through the door, he found Garak sitting behind his desk, looking infuriatingly calm and smug. </p><p>“Ah! Doctor!” he arose with a deep electric blue bundle in his arms with a tag hanging off it. </p><p>“I didn’t order that,” Julian protested, crossing his arms and frowning. </p><p>“But it has your name on it,” Garak grabbed the doctor’s arm, “and I made it just for you,” he dragged him to the fitting room, “so the least you could do,” he thrust the bundle into Julian’s arms, “is try it on,” he threw him into the fitting room, aggressively shutting the curtain after him. </p><p>Julian thought about just pulling the curtain back and fleeing, but he would probably be caught and wrestled back. Garak was being uncharacteristically…forceful…today… Wait, did he like that? Did he want to be wrestled by that strong, sturdy, muscle-bound… Uh-oh. </p><p>“Calm down,” he whispered downwards towards his trousers. </p><p>The half-boner twitched in protest but soon drooped back down. </p><p>Julian swallowed and forced <i>those</i> thoughts way down, instead picking up the bundle of fabric Garak had shoved into his arms. The material felt soft and silky, so it would at least be comfortable. He unfolded the shirt and his heart nearly leapt into his throat. This had to be a joke. </p><p>The neckline was very low and wide, exposing all but the very edges of his shoulders. There was virtually no back to it, just a very deep V that went down to the waist, which was nipped in and accentuated by a panel of fabric that went all around the shirt. Below the waist was a tunic-style flare, which was distinctly lower at the front and had a slit in the back. At least it was long-sleeved…long, tight sleeves. The trousers were slightly less revealing, but looked like they would be very tight. </p><p>Julian sighed and changed into the suit. It was very tight and left nothing to the imagination but was surprisingly moveable. What was Garak playing at? </p><p>“Uh…Garak…” he called out tentatively, “I definitely didn’t order this.” </p><p>“You’d better be dressed,” Garak replied, pilling back the curtain, “oh, my!” </p><p>Garak’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. </p><p>“You call this dressed?” Julian spluttered. </p><p>“I think it suits you, my dear.” </p><p>“You…you…you can’t possibly think I ordered this!” </p><p>“I may have made a mistake with your order, I apologise.” </p><p>“I didn’t order anything!” </p><p>“My dear, if I may.” </p><p>Garak reached out his hands to adjust the neckline. Julian bit back frantically pathetic whimpers while Garak’s cold, grey hands straightened his outfit, lingering a bit too long on any exposed skin. He felt like a whore. </p><p>Oh no. Could it really be true? Was Garak seriously trying to fuck him? Why? Surely he didn’t need to go to these lengths just to get Julian in bed with him. Did he? Would Julian actually sleep with Garak if he just asked? </p><p>His train of though was interrupted by Garak’s cold, scaly hands tracing up his back, adjusting the V on his suit. Come to think of it, one of those hands felt decidedly stronger than the other. </p><p>“Is…is your hand ok?” Julian asked tentatively, pulling his mind out of the gutter. </p><p>“Whatever do you mean, my dear?” Garak growled into Julian’s ear. </p><p>“Your hand feels sort of…weak…let me look at it.” </p><p>Julian whipped around and grabbed Garak’s hand, immediately slipping into Professional Doctor Mode. </p><p> </p><p>Everything was going just as Garak had planned it. Doctor Julian Bashir was dressed up like a dabo boy and holding his hand. It was so warm, so soft and tender…if only Doctor Bashir understood the intimacy of the gesture for a Cardassian. Wait, what was he thinking? If he understood, there was no way he’d just grab his hand like that. No, no, it was better he didn’t know. The doctor’s other long, elegant hand reached into his pocket, pulled out his tricorder and ran it over Garak’s hand, sliding up towards his wrist and tightening his grip with his other hand. It took all Garak’s inner strength and spy training not to react beyond a slight leak in his underwear. </p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with…<i>Garak<i>.” </i></i></p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Bashir’s expression turned suspicious. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hmm?” Garak hummed innocently. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Is this another trick to get me to give you medical attention?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Why would I ever do that?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Have you ever heard of Munchausen’s Syndrome?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“No…” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The doctor let go of Garak’s hand. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“It’s where you fake or manufacture the symptoms of injuries or illnesses to receive medical attention.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I see. Why would someone do something so undignified.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“There are a number of causes. Most notably, childhood trauma.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Doctor Bashir raised his eyebrows pointedly. Did he know? </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“In that case, I fail to see how I could have developed such an affliction.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hmm.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Fuck. Maybe he did know. Time to derail this conversation. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You know, Doctor, I do feel a slight ache in my wrist, maybe I should rest it for a while.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“But there’s nothing wrong with—” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“And I can’t very well rest with you here, now, can I?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“But you’re the one who—” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yes, and I thank you for your visit, goodbye.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Despite stammered protests from the doctor, Garak grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him out of the dressing room, through the shop and onto the promenade. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Julian had only just registered where he was when he realised what he was still wearing. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Garak! Give me back my uniform!” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Garak ran into the dressing room, grabbed Julian’s uniform and shoved it into his hands before he could run back into his shop. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Keep the suit!” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“B…but…” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>But Garak was gone; in his back room no doubt, snooping on the communications entering and leaving the station on his computer. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“What are you all looking at?” he shouted in the general direction of several gawking onlookers. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Julian ran to his quarters and changed back into his uniform before resuming his shift in the infirmary.</i>
  </i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What has this fic become lol? There should only be like 2 or 3 more chapters left so at least it will be over soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Cardassian Shingles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Garak goes too far and Julian starts to wise up. Also, more Andorians ‘cause you can never have too many Andorians.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A bit of backstory: I got a Star Trek quiz book for Christmas which has been one of the few things keeping me sane during lockdown. Anyway, the short version of one of the questions is, “At heart, Garak was proud of his heritage and his work for Starfleet decoding Cardassian transmissions during the Dominion War caused him great grief. How did this grief affect him physically?” One of the multiple-choice answers is, “Cardassian shingles.” I have no idea what that is, but I’m using it. The other answers are, “Migraines,” “Claustrophobia,” and, “Hives,” so I’m using all those as symptoms. Yay for originality XD.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Garak stepped away from the heater in his quarters and took his temperature again. Still too low. He sat next to the heater again and continued to paint dark-grey hives all over his chest and arms. He briefly wondered whether he was going too far, but then remembered Bashir was onto him and this next illness needed to be extra convincing. </p><p>“Ow…my head…such a sharp, stabbing pain in my head…” he rehearsed, pressing his hand to his temple, “and, is it me, or are these walls getting closer?” </p><p>That one wasn’t too hard to imagine. He shook the thought from his mind and got back to painting, assessing his life choices that had led up to this point. How had he, Elim Garak, Superspy Extraordinaire, lowered himself to painting fake rashes on his own skin to impress some young alien doctor who didn’t have the remotest interest in him? It was all so undignified—and all because of some stupid Earth fairy tale. </p><p>Garak sighed and took his temperature again. Still too low. What was it going to take? He shuffled closer to the heater. It was so warm, so inviting, like how he felt when he got a bit too close to the doctor and felt the mammalian heat radiating from his body. Oh, that body! Long, lean, strong, golden-bronze…<i>warm</i>…he was getting hot and flushed just thinking about it. </p><p>Fortunately for Garak, hot and flushed was exactly the look he was going for. He took his temperature again. Perfect. All he had to do to keep up the façade was think about Doctor Bashir, which shouldn’t be too hard when he would be right in front of him the whole time. He just had to control the situation in his underwear. </p><p>Once the paint had dried, Garak threw the paint can in the reclamator, put his shirt back on, took a deep breath and headed for the infirmary. He made sure to walk clumsily, clutching his stomach is if he were really sick. This was low even for him. </p><p>When he reached the infirmary, he made a big show of clutching his head, writhing and groaning in pain. </p><p>“Owwwww!” he moaned, ramming into an Andorian nurse. </p><p>“Ouch! Watch where you’re…Garak?” </p><p>“That was my name the last time I checked, get Doctor Bashir!” </p><p>“Um…ok.” </p><p>The nurse ran off to get the doctor. He came round the corner with an unimpressed expression on his face. </p><p>“Garak! What are you doing here!?” </p><p>“Doctor! How fortunate that you’re…owwwwwww!” </p><p>“This isn’t another headache, is it?” </p><p>“I wish! The headache is merely one of a multitude of symptoms that…ahhhhhh…” </p><p>Garak scratched his arm. </p><p>“What’s wrong with your arm?” </p><p>“Oh, nothing, I have a slight rash, nothing to be concerned about.” </p><p>“Take off your shirt.” </p><p>“I’m sorry?” </p><p>“Take off your shirt, I want to get a look at you.” </p><p>“Whatever you say, Doctor.” </p><p>Garak slid gracefully out of his shirt, slowly revealing his painted-on hives. </p><p>“Ooh…that looks bad.” </p><p>“Thank you.” </p><p>“Have you been feeling hot recently?” </p><p>“A little warmer than usual, yes.” </p><p>Garak’s mind filled with filthy thoughts about the man in front of him, bringing his temperature up nicely. </p><p>“Any bouts of claustrophobia?” </p><p>“Must you stand so close?” </p><p>“Hmm…” </p><p>Julian ran his tricorder over Garak’s body. </p><p>“Well, I’ll admit I have a limited understanding of the condition, but it looks like you have a case of Cardassian shingles.” </p><p>“I do? Oh, my, how awful.” </p><p>“There’s only one cure I know of.” </p><p>Doctor Bashir leaned his face in uncomfortably close. </p><p>“And what’s that?” </p><p>“An ice bath.” </p><p>“An…ice…bath?” </p><p>“Mmm.” </p><p>Doctor Bashir’s face had contorted into something resembling an evil grin. </p><p>“You see, it’s the only way to bring your temperature down and soothe the hives.” </p><p>“But what about the migraines? And the claustrophobia?” </p><p>Bashir leaned in until they were almost nose-to-nose. </p><p>“When you’re sitting in iced water, you won’t be thinking about them.” </p><p>“You know, Doctor, I’m suddenly feeling a lot better…” </p><p>“Oh, no, let me help you, I insist.” </p><p>The doctor grabbed Garak’s arm and pulled him into the infirmary’s bathroom, fitted out with a large, white porcelain bath. </p><p>“Computer!” Bashir shouted, “fill the bath with ice and cold water.” </p><p>The computer obliged. </p><p>“Well, Garak?” </p><p>“Umm…” </p><p>“Take off your clothes and get in the bath.” </p><p>For once, Garak was speechless. He quite liked the sound of fifty percent of that request, but the other half just wasn’t worth it. Or was it? He looked at the bath. No, definitely not worth it. </p><p>“Whatever is the matter?” </p><p>Bashir rounded on Garak, looking amused. </p><p>There was no other choice. The exit was clear. Garak plotted his course and did the only sane thing. He fled. </p><p> </p><p>Julian watched gleefully as Garak ran from the infirmary. He had never seen that strange lizard man move so fast before in his life. After a private smirk and a giggle, Julian composed himself and returned to his duties. </p><p>“What just happened?” asked the Andorian nurse. </p><p>“Ohh…it’s nothing…just Garak trying to pull the wool over my eyes.” </p><p>“He didn’t have any wool with him.” </p><p>“It’s just an expression. It means he was trying to trick me.” </p><p>“Oh. So what’s new?” </p><p>“Very funny. He thought painting fake hives on his scales and artificially raising his temperature…somehow…would convince me he had Cardassian shingles.” </p><p>“Oh, so that’s why he was clutching his head.” </p><p>“Yes…and he even tried to convince me he was claustrophobic! I mean, what kind of idiot does he take me for?” </p><p>“What a preposterous notion! So, what did you do to make him run out like that?” </p><p>“I threatened to give him an ice bath. I said it’d help get his temperature down and soothe his hives.” </p><p>“And he believed you?” </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>Julian and the Andorian burst out laughing. </p><p>“You know what I think?” the nurse said eventually. </p><p>“What do you think?” </p><p>“I think Mr Garak might have a little crush on you.” </p><p>“Not this again…” </p><p>“Think about it—he always dresses nice around you, he finds any excuse to speak to you and he’s recently been faking serious injuries to get your attention.” </p><p>Julian’s cheeks turned scarlet as he fumbled for a retort. </p><p>“Oh, please, he dresses nice all the time…and…and he talks all the time…to anyone who’ll listen…even a few people who won’t…and he fakes injuries because…because…” </p><p>“Because?” </p><p>“Because…he’s…psychologically damaged!” </p><p>“That’s the best you can come up with?” </p><p>“Hey…get back to work, we have patients to see to.” </p><p>“Yes, Doctor. But I’m telling you, Garak likes you.” </p><p>Julian hummed noncommittally and scanned a patient. He wasn’t about to be thrown off his work by a matchmaking, busybody Andorian. </p><p> </p><p>Garak had never moved so quickly along the promenade in his life. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever moved as fast in his life. He had to get back to his quarters, calm himself down and wash the paint off his scales. </p><p>He reached his quarters and slammed the door after him, reaching for his dermal regenerator. He ran it over his painted scales, furiously tracing it over himself until every last drop was removed. Even then, he felt dirty, as if he could still see the paint. He fought the urge to scratch the perceived impression of the paint and racked his brain for something that would take his mind off it. </p><p>Of course! Work! Work was the answer to everything. He quickly gathered his wits and left his quarters, sprinting along the corridor towards his shop. In fact, he ran so fast he forgot about the uneven floor leading into his shop. </p><p>“Aaaaaaaaaaaargh!” </p><p>Garak’s foot got caught on raised carpet, sending him flying and face planting on the floor. He briefly thought about crying wolf again, but decided he’d pushed his luck enough for one day. He brought his leg around and tried to stand up. </p><p>“Owwwwwwwww!” </p><p>That wasn’t right. He tried again. </p><p>“Ouch!” </p><p>Oh no. He couldn’t stand up. He considered his options. There was no alternative. </p><p>“Garak to Doctor Bashir.” </p><p>No answer. </p><p>“GARAK TO DOCTOR BASHIR!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUN! Garak’s in for it now! </p><p>I’ve just realised I have two random Andorians in this story lol but you can never have too many Andorians, right? </p><p>Kind of a philosophical question: is Garak technically faking the claustrophobia if he’s really claustrophobic? Just a little something to think about…</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Broken Ankle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Garak is really injured but nobody believes him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We’re almost at the end—the fic that was only supposed to be 5-6 chapters will finally wrap up after chapter 9. I can’t believe I almost got through an entire Garashir fic without referencing The Wire, which seems to be practically a crime, but don’t panic, I have corrected that in this chapter. Slight content warning as it goes into some of the, um, darker regions of Garak’s mind, shall we say? But it’s only brief and has a happy ending. </p>
<p>Also, you know that trope where Garak gets irritated at Julian’s obliviousness and bullies him into sex? Well, that’s pretty much what happens here. Enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Julian ignored Garak’s frantic calls over the intercom system, instead focussing on the patient he was scanning. Garak’s calls only got more urgent. </p>
<p>“Shouldn’t you answer that?” asked the patient. </p>
<p>“It’s just Garak being a drama queen,” Julian replied, not missing a beat with his scanning. </p>
<p>“Oh, that.” </p>
<p>“Yeah. That.” </p>
<p>Julian finished his scan and looked at his tricorder. </p>
<p>“You have three broken ribs,” he concluded, “I’ll just get my osteo-regenerator.” </p>
<p>“Doctor!” Garak rudely interrupted, “I know you can hear me! Get to my shop this instant, my ankle is killing me!” </p>
<p>“Maybe you should check that, he sounds like he’s in pain,” the patient said. </p>
<p>“Very convincing, isn’t he?” Julian replied, grabbing his osteo-regenerator. </p>
<p>“I know he’s annoying, but shouldn’t you help him?” </p>
<p>Julian ran the osteo-regenerator over his patient. </p>
<p>“Over the past few days, Garak has complained about a twisted ankle, a headache, a sprained wrist and Cardassian shingles—and is now complaining about his ankle again. There’s only so many lies he can tell and have me still fall for it.” </p>
<p>“Really? Sounds like he was just making excuses to see you,” the patient said in an extremely suggestive tone. </p>
<p>“Not you too…” </p>
<p>“Everybody else on the station sees it except you two.”</p>
<p>Julian finished repairing the patient’s ribs and replaced the osteo-regenerator. </p>
<p>“You’re healed. You can go.” </p>
<p>The patient left the infirmary without another word. Garak was still whining about his ankle over the comm system. Julian left the Andorian nurse in charge of the remaining patients and went to his office to sulk. He wasn’t going to give in to that needy, attention-seeking lizard no matter how convincing his whining was. If Garak wanted to see him, he could come out and say so. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Garak managed to drag himself into his shop and sit up against the back wall—still undignified, but better than sprawling face-down on the floor. He tapped his combadge for the umpteenth time. </p>
<p>“Garak to Doctor Bashir, medical emergency! There’s something seriously wrong with my ankle, I can’t walk!” </p>
<p><i>Which is exactly what you said when you faked that ankle injury,</i> said the little voice in his head. </p>
<p>“Doctor, please, I mean it this time!” </p>
<p>Still no response. Garak threw his head back against the wall. Somewhere inside, he knew the doctor wasn’t coming. He had pushed things too far and driven him away. But right now he didn’t care if Bashir never wanted to look at him again—he just needed his ankle to stop hurting. </p>
<p>“Doctor, I’m not lying, it really hurts!” </p>
<p>Nothing. The pain was getting to be too much. Garak feared he would pass out if it got any worse. Surely there must be something in his spy training that would help him until he could get medical attention. If only he still had his wire; he wouldn’t be able to feel any pain at all. But the accursed thing had malfunctioned and been disabled by the very doctor who was currently ignoring him. The most frustrating thing was that the implant was still sitting there uselessly in his head, wired into his brain, unable to be switched back on lest it kill him. Maybe death would be preferable to all this pain. Or maybe that was too good for him—after everything he’d done in the past few days, maybe he deserved to suffer. And for what? A few measly arguments, some fleeting touches and his hand held for a few seconds. Hardly worth the loss of dignity or driving away the one person on this awful station who might actually care for him. </p>
<p>No! He couldn’t afford to think like that. He needed to focus. He grabbed a spare piece of long, strong fabric and wrapped it around his ankle, putting another scrap of fabric in his mouth to bite down on. He then tried to stand up but again stumbled and ended up back on the floor. What he needed was a walking stick. Garak dragged himself over to his worktable, levered himself up and grabbed the long metal ruler he used for measuring lengths of fabric. It still hurt to walk, but at least he could do it now he didn’t have to put as much pressure on his sore ankle. </p>
<p>Garak swallowed what remained of his dignity and hobbled onto the promenade towards the infirmary, glaring at anyone who so much as looked in his general direction. When he finally reached the infirmary, he glared at the nearest nurse, then collapsed onto the biobed. </p>
<p>“I’ll get Doctor Bashir,” said the nurse. </p>
<p>Garak merely growled in response. The nurse nearly jumped out of her skin and ran off to Bashir’s office. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Doctor, Garak’s here,” the nurse announced as she burst into the office. </p>
<p>Julian sighed. </p>
<p>“I’m not in the mood for his bullshit.” </p>
<p>“I think he’s really hurt. He was hobbling and growling and everything.” </p>
<p>“Fine,” Julian stood up and exited his office. </p>
<p>The nurse cowered behind him as he approached the seething Cardassian. </p>
<p>“Garak, what’s wrong with you now?” </p>
<p>Garak crossed his arms and scowled. </p>
<p>“I can’t treat you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” </p>
<p>Garak stared at the doctor with his long-practiced spy stare. </p>
<p>“Fine, be like that,” Julian aggressively scanned him, deliberately starting at the top and moving painfully slowly towards Garak’s legs. </p>
<p>He noticed one of Garak’s ankles was bound with a bit of fabric and concluded that must be the injured one. Maybe he really was hurt. Julian scanned the unbound leg first, then finally the injured one, making a point to be slow about it. Garak glared impatiently, unblinking. Did he even have eyelids? </p>
<p>Julian finally scanned the offending ankle and frowned at his tricorder. </p>
<p>“It’s broken,” he said, “actually, properly broken.” </p>
<p>Garak shot him an, “I told you so,” expression then went back to glaring. </p>
<p>“Garak…I’m going to have to remove this dressing…” </p>
<p>Julian gingerly unwrapped Garak’s ankle, fully expecting to be attacked. But Garak just glared. He grabbed the osteo-regenerator and shakily ran it over the Cardassian’s broken ankle. </p>
<p>“All better,” he announced nervously, backing away from Garak. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Garak wasn’t going to let him get away that easily. He rotated his foot to check how it was. Good as new. He stood up and advanced menacingly on Doctor Bashir. The doctor continued to back away, eyes wide, as if terrified for his life, wanting to flee but afraid of further enraging a wild animal. Good. He should be scared. When Garak was through with him, he wouldn’t even be able to stand. </p>
<p>Bashir stumbled backwards into a console. Garak continued advancing. </p>
<p>“Garak…I’m sorry, b-but you have been f-faking a lot of injuries lately…” </p>
<p>Julian held out his hands as if to protect himself. He was so cute when he was shitting himself. No! Garak had to stay angry, even if the doctor had a point. Garak hissed angrily, causing Bashir to run for cover in his office. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough closing the door and Garak chased after him, locking the door behind him. </p>
<p>“Garak…” Bashir tried again, “what are you going to do to me?” </p>
<p>Garak launched himself forwards and pinned the doctor to the wall, eliciting an adorable squeal. </p>
<p>“Seriously, Garak, you’re scaring me.” </p>
<p>“Good.” </p>
<p>“Please don’t hurt me.” </p>
<p>“Hurt you? How can you be so oblivious!?” Garak shook Doctor Bashir and slammed him against the wall. </p>
<p>“Oblivious to what?” </p>
<p>Garak sighed. Maybe this had been a bad idea. But he’d got this far…</p>
<p>“Really? You don’t notice me starting arguments with you all the time, hmm? Or how about my constant attempts to spend more time with you? Why, recently I’ve even had to resort to faking injuries just to get your attention. I couldn’t be more obvious if I tried, my dear.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Julian’s head raced. It was all true. Garak really had been flirting with him. And now here he was, pinned against the wall of his own office by the man himself, still somewhat frightened of being eaten alive. </p>
<p>“Garak…” he croaked out, trying to calm himself down, “Garak…” </p>
<p>He traced one of Garak’s eye ridges with his hand, enjoying the feel of the bumpy scaled that lined it. Garak took his shaky wrist, but only held it gently, allowing Julian to caress his face. </p>
<p>“Oh, Doctor…” Garak released his grip on Julian and stared at the floor in shame. </p>
<p>“Don’t you run away now.” </p>
<p>Garak looked back up at him. </p>
<p>“My dear doctor, I wouldn’t dream of it.” </p>
<p>They leaned forwards until their lips touched and kissed each other hungrily, finally releasing all the feelings they’d been keeping pent up for so long.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I could technically end it here but, like, Garashir writers gotta smut, it’s the law, nothing I can do about it. In all seriousness, though, if smut’s not your thing then this is a good stopping point—the final chapter is basically just sex and feelings-y stuff.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sexy times 😉.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Final chapter, woo! It’s been a longer ride than I intended but we’re at the end now. I hope this is a satisfying ending for everyone, wrapping up all the loose ends and what not. I have no idea whose POV this is from, maybe some 3rd person omniscient fly-on-the-wall pervert, like Odo disguised as a wall or something. </p>
<p>I feel like this comes across as a bit disjointed and all over the place because that’s what my brain was like when I wrote it…just warning you now.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once they had finished kissing, Julian and Garak stared at each other in shock for a few seconds. </p>
<p>“What…what just happened?” Julian breathed. </p>
<p>“I believe you humans call it kissing,” Garak replied. </p>
<p>“Not what I meant…but do Cardassians call it something different?” </p>
<p>“No…but we do have some other ways of kissing.” </p>
<p>“Such as?” </p>
<p>“Well…” </p>
<p>Garak took Julian’s hand, held their palms together and interlocked their fingers. </p>
<p>“Cardassians kiss by holding hands?” Julian’s mind raced back to when he was standing in Garak’s dressing room, dressed in <i>that</i> suit, Garak’s hand in his while he scanned his wrist. </p>
<p>“Oh, yes. Cardassian hands are very sensitive. Didn’t you know?” Garak grinned predatorially at Julian, who swallowed hard. </p>
<p>“You tricked me into kissing you!?” </p>
<p>“Not quite. I assume you’re referring to the incident in my shop, the position of our hands wasn’t right for it to be a kiss.” </p>
<p>“But it was still…intimate?” </p>
<p>“I suppose it would be a little like someone doing this…” Garak ran his finger along Doctor Bashir’s lips. </p>
<p>Julian gasped and froze in place. </p>
<p>“Yes. Well. Some of us have more control over our reactions than others,” Garak concluded. </p>
<p>Julian was still frozen. Garak moved his hand onto the doctor’s jawline, then slid it down his neck and onto his shoulder. He reached for the zip on Julian’s uniform and slowly pulled it down, revealing his thin grey undershirt. </p>
<p>“This is, uh…really happening, then?” Julian stammered. </p>
<p>Garak rolled his eyes and ripped off said undershirt, pawing at Julian’s golden-brown chest. Taking the hint, Bashir started running his hands along Garak’s neck ridges, still slightly shaky. </p>
<p>“Don’t be so shy, my dear,” Garak pulled Julian’s hands behind him to the clasp of his tunic. </p>
<p>“I’m not shy!” Julian protested, fiddling hopelessly with the clasp. </p>
<p>“I take it your hands are shaking with confidence, then?” </p>
<p>Julian dropped his hands and glared at Garak. </p>
<p>“Fine, I’ll do it myself,” Garak made a point of unclasping his tunic very quickly with one hand. </p>
<p>Julian tore it off him and threw him onto the desk. Garak barely had time to think before he was relieved of his trousers and having his neck ridges bitten. He hissed in pleasure as Julian’s hands trailed southwards down the ridge that went down his stomach. He got as far as the top of his ajan, then stopped, confused. </p>
<p>“Um…how…how does this, um…work?” he asked sheepishly. </p>
<p>Garak smirked and looked at the doctor’s adorably confused face. </p>
<p>“It’s an ajan, my dear. It contains my internal genitalia.” </p>
<p>“Internal genitalia?” poor Julian still looked confused. </p>
<p>“My ajan contains my prut which everts when it’s been stimulated enough.” </p>
<p>“So…I need to stimulate your ajan?” </p>
<p>“Yes.” </p>
<p>Still uncertain, Julian stroked the scaled slit with his hand slowly. </p>
<p>“You call that stimulation?” </p>
<p>Julian pressed on a bit harder. </p>
<p>“Doctor, are you trying to stimulate me or put me to sleep?” </p>
<p>Julian pressed on harder, digging in with his nails. Garak hissed euphorically. </p>
<p>“Yesssssssssssss that’s more like it!” </p>
<p>Feeling more confident, Julian continued to rub and scratch Garak’s ajan. The Cardassian continued to hiss and started tugging at Julian’s trousers. He wriggled them off, hooked his legs around Julian’s ass and wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him in closer to his face. </p>
<p>“Ooh…uh…hello?” </p>
<p>“Hello, Doctor.” </p>
<p>“Do you have to call me Doctor when we’re naked and right in each other’s faces?” </p>
<p>“Yes, Doctor, I do.” </p>
<p>“Couldn’t you call me Julian instead?” </p>
<p>“I’ll think about it, Doctor.” </p>
<p>“Garak, I’m serious. It’s kind of killing the mood for me.” </p>
<p>“Fine…Julian…” </p>
<p>“That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” </p>
<p>“It was immensely painful, my dear.” </p>
<p>“Oh, stop it, you drama queen.” </p>
<p>Julian leaned down and kissed Garak again, once again reaching for his ajan. It was distinctly sticky and wet, secreting what he assumed to be a natural lubricant. When they were done kissing, Julian bit Garak’s neck ridge again. </p>
<p>“Ahh…yesssssssssssssssss…” </p>
<p>Julian reached down with his free hand and stroked his own flushed cock, moving slowly down Garak’s body so he could reach his ajan with his mouth. When he got there, he started licking and soon noticed a shape just above the ajan. Curious, he touched it with his finger. Garak’s entire body bucked violently and he screamed. Julian jumped backwards. </p>
<p>“Sorry…” he started. </p>
<p>Garak pulled him back in to his face. </p>
<p>“If you’re going to touch that, <i>warn me first!</i>” </p>
<p>“Um…OK…” </p>
<p>“Hmm…” </p>
<p>Garak’s hand wrapped around Julian’s cock and began stroking it, much like Julian had been doing earlier. Julian flopped onto Garak’s shoulder and moaned in his ear. </p>
<p>“You know…your human prut might fit quite nicely in my ajan,” Garak teased. </p>
<p>Julian took a few seconds to register what he meant, then manoeuvred his “human prut” inside Garak’s ajan, using his hands to separate the lips and sliding it inside. He thrust it in and out quite slowly at first, then noted the impatient look Garak was giving him and went much faster. The inside of the ajan was strangely warm and very wet and sticky, not very deep but wider than he was used to. </p>
<p>“Is…is this actually doing anything for you?” </p>
<p>“Of course it is, my dear. Why? Is it not doing anything for you?” </p>
<p>“Yes, of course.” </p>
<p>“Well, good. Tell me, my dear, what are these?” </p>
<p>Garak reached for Julian’s nipples and twisted them between his thumbs and forefingers. Julian squealed, grabbing onto Garak’s hips. </p>
<p>“Sensetive, are they?” Garak twisted again. </p>
<p>Another squeal. How cute. Garak continued to twist Julian’s nipples, each little squeal he elicited more adorable than the last. </p>
<p>Between all the squealing, Julian noticed something on Garak’s chest, too. In fact, it looked a bit like the thing on his head and the other thing above his ajan. Julian very slowly reached along Garak’s chest and very lightly touched it. Garak hissed, but didn’t scream or convulse. Maybe this one was less sensitive. He touched it again, a bit harder. Again, just a hiss. Satisfied he wasn’t going to get kicked, he traced the edge a few times, then put a finger in the middle and massaged it. Garak’s incessant hissing was starting to become relaxing, almost like a purr. </p>
<p>“Eek…you know, Garak…mmph…if you were feeling lonely…ah…you didn’t have to go…ooh…to all that trouble!” </p>
<p>“Hissssss…how else could I have…hisssssss…got the attention of…ah…a doctor?” </p>
<p>“You could have just…oh…asked!” </p>
<p>“Ah, yes…hisssssssssss…why didn’t I…hissssssssssss…think of that…hisssssssssssss… ‘Doctor, I know you’re busy…hissssssssssssss…and you’ve never been more than…hissssssssssssss…a friend to me, but…hissssssssssssss…would you mind awfully…hisssssssssssssss…<i>fucking me?</i>’” </p>
<p>“I see your point…ah…but I do like the…eep…direct approach.” </p>
<p>“Ah…would you mind awfully if I…” </p>
<p>Garak grabbed Julian’s hips and flipped him over so he was lying on the table, then slid his prut inside him. It was almost unbearably tight and hot, but surprisingly pleasant. Julian squeaked again and grabbed Garak’s shoulders. His hot, sweaty body rubbed against Garak’s flushed scales, filling him with a warmth he hadn’t felt for far too many years. </p>
<p>“Ah…Garak…” Julian’s eyes glazed over. </p>
<p>“Stay with me…Julian…” Garak replied, locking eyes with him. </p>
<p>Julian tried to keep his eyes on Garak’s but kept coming in and out of focus. </p>
<p>“I…I think I’m going to…ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” </p>
<p>Julian came all over his stomach and stroked himself through the aftershocks. His limbs went limp and his eyes rolled back in his head. </p>
<p><i>How cute,</i> Garak thought, teetering closer to the edge himself. </p>
<p>Julian shakily reached for Garak’s hand and held it in a Cardassian kiss, then attempted to smile. It was all so sweet, so adorable, so overwhelming… </p>
<p>“Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!” </p>
<p>Garak came inside Julian in one big dollop, then pulled out of him when he was finished. Garak’s seed leaked out of Julian’s ass and onto the table but they were too worn out to care. </p>
<p>“Oh, my!” Garak exclaimed, flopping down on the table and curling up next to Julian. He <i>was</i> very warm, after all. </p>
<p>Julian slowly snaked his arms around him, still unable to speak. After a few minutes, their consciousnesses started to return and their breathing slowed. </p>
<p>“The next time you want to do that,” Julian whispered shakily, “just ask.” </p>
<p>“My dear, if I had thought for a moment you were even slightly interested in me, I would have done so a lot sooner.” </p>
<p>“What made you think I wasn’t interested?” </p>
<p>“You never…what’s the expression? Made a move.” </p>
<p>“Well…neither did you.” </p>
<p>“My dear Doctor, I could not have been more obvious if I tried.” </p>
<p>“I guess Cardassian flirting is too subtle for a human to pick up on.” </p>
<p>“I invited you to my shop for ‘enjoyable company’ the very first time I met you!” </p>
<p>“Well, I suppose, in retrospect, that could have been read as flirting…” </p>
<p>“I gave you Cardassian love poetry to read two weeks ago!” </p>
<p>“That was love poetry? It was more like…State-issued propaganda.” </p>
<p>“I’ll admit it’s a little more cryptic than the human variety…” </p>
<p>“You read human love poetry?” </p>
<p>“Don’t change the subject. Then I faked a string of injuries just to get your attention!” </p>
<p>“Honestly, I just thought you were a hypochondriac or being a pain or…I don’t know…I guess deep down, I’ve always known, but…” Julian trailed off. </p>
<p>“But what, my dear?” </p>
<p>“Well…I suppose I was a bit…intimidated.” </p>
<p>“By me, of all people?” </p>
<p>“I…yes. You’re intimidating. Don’t look so proud of it!” </p>
<p>A slight smirk had formed across the Cardassian’s scaly features. </p>
<p>“Well, my dear, if I’m so intimidating, we’d better move before some unfortunate nurse comes in here looking for you and I <i>intimidate</i> them.” </p>
<p>“You know…we could always go back to my quarters and, um, continue this…whatever it is.” </p>
<p>“My dear Doctor, I thought you’d never ask.” </p>
<p>Garak and Julian cleaned the office, got dressed and crossed the promenade to Julian’s quarters. Just before they were about to undress each other again, Julian spoke. </p>
<p>“Just promise me one thing, Garak.” </p>
<p>“Hmm? What’s that?” </p>
<p>“No more crying wolf.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Like I said, I hope this is a satisfying ending…I couldn’t decide whether they should have The Talk during or after sex so I though “why not both?” I feel like the during stuff is a bit awkward, so…yeah, sorry about that. </p>
<p>It’s really hard to write any smut involving Garak without using the word “spoon”…who decided the spoons were a thing anyway? *cough, cough.* </p>
<p>So…yeah. I hope you enjoyed it. I’m currently working on something…different, shall we say…so if you want to check that out when I post it, it would be much appreciated. </p>
<p>Bye, everyone! 😊</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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